


stuck on you (beep beep)

by norikae



Series: kihyun/minhyuk: home in so many places (explicit oneshots) [1]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, Fluff, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, handjobs, mostly fun and laughs if we're gonna be real here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 23:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16168718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norikae/pseuds/norikae
Summary: “My drink,” Pretty In Pink says, rather plainly.  He isn’t looking Minhyuk in the eye, gaze fixed somewhere on his torso where, if you were looking for it, you could potentially make out the faint telltale glisten of alcohol soaking into cotton fibre.  “I was drinking that.”Minhyuk, too, glances down at his sweater, which is thankfully black and thus doesn’t actually look much worse for wear. “I can get you another one,” he says with all the nonchalance he can muster,  shifting his weight to his right leg so his hip cocks out just so. He leans in conspiratorially, then winks. “It’s on me.”





	stuck on you (beep beep)

**Author's Note:**

> i just like pink haired kihyun + this was just gratuity don't mind me + i dont know SHIT about sex i'm SORRY
> 
> working title this is just kihyuk fuckery dot docx
> 
> as with literally everything i write this is severely not proofread

“You look fine, hurry up, come on, let’s go," Hyungwon drawls, leaning the entirety of his beanpole self against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. “We’re gonna miss all the fun if you check yourself out one more time.”

“Yeah - hold on, just -” Minhyuk smears pomade all over his hand, then runs it carelessly through his bangs a few times before eyeing his reflection again. “How do I look?”

“Absolutely fuckable. I’d do you on the table right now if it meant we could get going. _God,_ Minhyuk,” he says, in a complete monotone, “You’re _so_ hot.”

Minhyuk doesn’t bother looking away from the mirror, angling his body this way and that as he adjusts the tuck of his loose, v-necked sweater into black, painted-on leather jeans. “You didn’t even look at me, you uncooked strand of spaghetti.”

His roommate shrugs, finally raising his gaze from his phone to glance at him for a second. He even bothers clicking the button to turn his screen off. “Look. You’re pretty all the time, you don’t need my approval. Okay? Can we go now?”

The admission gets Minhyuk to stop preening more than he really has to, sliding his gaze coyly over in the mirror. “Did you just say what I think you said?” he purrs, fluttering his lashes. “Did you really? Did my narcissistic pasta king just admit he’s _not_ the only hot one around?” Minhyuk finally detaches himself from his reflection, attaching instead to Hyungwon. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

Disgruntled, Hyungwon places one long, knobbly finger against Minhyuk’s forehead, right where his bangs have graciously been parted to allow access, and then _pushes_. “I’ve sucked your dick, don’t act like it’s surprising I think you’re okay looking. And,” he continues, shoving his phone into the pocket of his own shrink-wrap black ripped jeans, “I’m still hotter. Get over yourself and let’s go.”

He’s already at the door, bending over to pull on dark loafers, so Minhyuk saunters over casually, takes aim, and _smacks_ Hyungwon’s ass. The resounding _thwack_ is drowned out only by the sound of his own howling, accompanied by Hyungwon’s spiteful cackles.

“ _The hell_? Can noodles even have bones?” He’s whimpering as he clutches his wounded hand to his chest, glaring at Hyungwon’s innocuously flat butt - or lack thereof. “Why did that have to _hurt_? How do you even sit on that thing?”

The taller of the two sighs deeply, and pointedly toes Minhyuk’s shoes towards him. “Believe it or not, I sit, shit, and more on this thing. And I’m intending on the third category sometime this year, so if you’ll just do your beloved angel a favour and _put on your fucking shoes so we can go -_ ”

Minhyuk harrumphs loudly, cutting off Hyungwon’s rant before it can actually start. “Okay, okay, you little bitch,” he grunts, still feeling wronged. His hand burns like he’d just tried to punch a whole in a wall. But sympathy isn’t likely to come his way any time soon, so he does what he’s told, pouting all the way.

  


“Glad the two of you could make it,” Wonho greets them at the door, gummy grin wide and nose crinkling as he takes in their appearances. From behind him a bass thrums steadily through the house, the steady beats of some party song permeating the air with a heady buzz. He quirks an eyebrow at Hyungwon, grin settling into something a bit more intent. “Looking good, by the way.”

“Would’ve been here an hour ago if _someone_ weren’t busy trying to eyefuck himself in the mirror,” Hyungwon quips, and then, dragging his eyes over their host, “You’re not doing too bad yourself.”

“Ugh,” Minhyuk scoffs, “The _pheromones_. I’m leaving. Bye kids.” He makes sure to grab Hyungwon and plant a sloppy, wet kiss right on his cheek before pirouetting around and skipping into the crowd, smug at the squawk he leaves in his wake.

Having successfully rid himself of his oversized baggage by checking it in at the door, Minhyuk turns to properly regard the party. He waves at Jooheon, a junior in his course who’s nursing a coke while chatting to two guys - someone he recognises as a freshman prodigy, and the other, the president of the Kendo club.

He’s eyeing the line of a defined arm and considering approaching when he walks straight into something that lets out a strangled _mmf_ of surprise. Minhyuk turns his head, sees nothing, then blinks, and then looks down.

There’s a bowed pink head extremely close to his chin, and the colour distracts him, until he feels the dampness seeping through his sweater, the other person taking a step back and then slowly looking up at him. He has a very nice nose. It’s kind of cute.

“My drink,” Pretty In Pink says, rather plainly.  He isn’t looking Minhyuk in the eye, gaze fixed somewhere on his torso where, if you were looking for it, you could potentially make out the faint telltale glisten of alcohol soaking into cotton fibre.  “I was drinking that.”

Minhyuk, too, glances down at his sweater, which is thankfully black and thus doesn’t actually look much worse for wear. “I can get you another one,” he says with all the nonchalance he can muster,  shifting his weight to his right leg so his hip cocks out _just_ so. He leans in conspiratorially, then winks. “It’s on me.”

He’s trying to be clever - what with the fact that it’s a house party and all - but his conversational partner merely flicks his gaze up, then back down at the booze-stained fabric, a defined eyebrow arching upwards as if to say, _yeah, it is_.

Then he tilts his head approximately fifteen degrees left and back, revealing the long line of his jaw and the curve of a pronounced chin, somehow giving the appearance of peering down at Minhyuk despite being a good amount shorter.

Just as Minhyuk is about to deflate under the weight of the look and start fidgeting, however, he shrugs almost cockily, a slow smile curving its way across his face, hinting at a flash of teeth. “Alright,” he concedes, “I’ll allow it if you tell me your name.”

Minhyuk blinks once, twice, then grins in response, not-so-subtly pulling at the swooping neckline of his sweater to reveal the collarbones he’d so carefully highlighted with shimmer powder while his Personal Turtle-tron 2000 had been bitching up a storm about punctuality. “Minhyuk,” he tells him. “What’s yours?”

The other man peers at him from under long lashes as he does. His hair is tousled, just-so, and his eyes, when their gazes meet, are dark, banked coals flecked by dancing embers. “Kihyun,” he says, and Minhyuk feels the husk of his voice in his bones.

  


His hands are on his back, now, curled around his waist, thumbing circles into his hips, and Minhyuk is so hard it hurts. They were in his hair, too, a mere flicker ago, scratching lines into his scalp, tugging just hard enough for it to hurt.

“You’re - _ah_ , good with your hands,” Minhyuk finds the time to mumble, his own tucked under Kihyun’s shirt, one splayed flat on a smooth lean stomach, the other creeping higher. He coos into the open-mouthed kiss. “You work with them or - _mm_ \- somethin’?”

“The fuck,” Kihyun grunts, impressively grumpy for somebody whose eyes are also fluttering shut in pleasure every other beat. He begins - and then immediately aborts - a scowl when Minhyuk separates, trailing warm lips over soft skin to begin sucking on his pulse, just below where jaw meets neck. “ _Oh_. My god.” His hands stutter, pulling them closer together, groins brushing. “ _Fuck_.”

Minhyuk hums smugly. “You didn’t answer my question,” he pronounces very precisely into Kihyun’s throat, crowding an impossible inch closer, hand teasing the edge of his waistband. He curls a finger into it, pulling, and then lets go with a snap. “Artist? Sculptor?” He pauses, biting into soft skin briefly, before smoothing over it with his tongue. “Mechanical engineer?”

Kihyun huffs a breathy laugh that sounds more turned on than irritated. “Photographer,” he replies, and then shifts, just enough, so it’s his thigh that presses against Minhyuk’s crotch. His lip curls in satisfaction at the answering low whine, and he moves his leg in a slow rhythm in reply. “ _You’re_ good with your mouth - suppose you never shut up.”

Minhyuk grins, and knows Kihyun can feel it directly on his skin from the way he hisses a moan. He slides his hand lower, cupping him in his warm hand, and takes his time in answering, applying a slight pressure as he leisurely sucks at the base of Kihyun’s throat.

“You haven’t seen good yet,” he teases, fingers brushing along the clothed, hard length as he does. It elicits a groan, guttural and breaking, and Minhyuk’s voice is dripping with honey when he adds, “Wanna find out?”

“Yes,” Kihyun breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “Please.”

It is all the confirmation Minhyuk needs to unzip those tight jeans in a slow drag and drop to his knees, nose to an outline through a remaining layer of cloth. “Since you asked so nicely,” he coos, relishing the shiver it elicits, mouthing teasingly to draw it out. A hand finds its way into his hair, and when Kihyun pulls, Minhyuk _feels_ it.

“Minhyuk.” His voice is coarse, warning. Minhyuk delights in the texture, pushing his luck further for a moment before he finally reaches for the waistband and tugs it down.

“Shh,” he purrs, just to be obnoxious, pressing a thumb deliberately against the slit before smearing a bead of precum around. Then he leans in, and laps experimentally at the head, small, kittenish licks so he can hear Kihyun moan, growing bolder as he gets louder. The taste is heady on his tongue, grows headier still when he finally takes it into his mouth, savouring the weight, smug in the way he knows his lips must look, pushed apart just so.

Then he starts to bob his head, slowly at first, careful to keep his teeth out of the way. Kihyun hisses, head thrown back, hands flexing in Minhyuk’s hair. It’s encouragement, so he ups the pace, cheeks hollowed as he provides suction, spit-slicked hand grasping what his mouth can’t reach, working tighter, faster, wetter.

Kihyun helps, thrusting shallowly in time with Minhyuk so he doesn’t gag, but as their pace quickens to border desperation and his rhythm begins to falter he forcefully yanks on Minhyuk’s head, eyes heavily lidded as he pants, “I’m close.”

“Shame,” Minhyuk chirps as he pulls off, lips cherry-red and swollen. “I was having the time of my life, you know.” He pops his lips obscenely as he climbs to his feet, leaning in for a bruising kiss that the other allows, one of Kihyun’s hands fisting in his shirt, the other sliding into his jeans, heel of his palm beginning a slow massage.

Kihyun scoffs at him, but doesn’t say anything, reaching into Minhyuk’s pocket and fishing out the lube packet hidden there. Dazed, Minhyuk only belatedly makes a sound of surprise as Kihyun rips it open, warms the liquid on his hands, and then brings his grasp around them both, pressing them together and against each other in a maddeningly hot grip.

“H- _ah,_ how’d you know,” he asks, struggling to think through the pleasure. His eyes flutter shut.

Kihyun’s furrowed brow of concentration eases the slightest bit, a sharp canine revealing itself in his answering smirk. “Guy like you at a party wouldn’t be - _oh_ \- caught dead without.”

It’s good, the pace he sets, and Minhyuk opts to cut it out with the smart comments, choosing instead to bury his face in Kihyun’s neck, mouthing absently there, hands toying at his chest as their hips stutter in tandem. Kihyun’s hand is soft but his grip sure, and the combined friction is a steady, mounting pressure until he’s coming, and it isn’t long before Minhyuk follows him over that precipice, letting out a gasping shout as he does.

Exhausted, he sags against the other man, eyes falling shut for a few blissful moments before he’s shoved off somewhat unceremoniously with a grunt of _heavy_. Still coming down from the high, Minhyuk barely registers it as Kihyun disappears briefly and comes back with a few wet tissues that he shoves at him, hardly hears the vaguely disapproving _tsk_ as he cleans himself up sloppily, balling up the tissues and throwing them into the nearest dustbin.

He does, however, crack open an eye when he hears the tinkling of a belt buckle, the word shoved out of his mouth by his bliss-addled brain before he can help himself. “Nooo,” Minhyuk mumbles, “Don’t go.”

Kihyun pauses, then looks at him, expression caught somewhere between confusion and guarded irritation. “What?” he says, but his hands don’t complete their previous moment, stalling at his hips.

Minhyuk yawns, then, boneless after sex, and finds it in himself to push off the wall they’d just been against, padding over to take Kihyun by the hand and drag him towards the bed they’d never made it to. “Sleep,” he says, smacking his mouth noisily in a _nyam nyam nyam_ , feet shuffling against the floor.

Of all the things that he could say, it’s a weak “But this isn’t your bed?” that Kihyun lets out, somehow enamoured by the loose grip that he could but won’t shake off, the hazy way this almost-stranger is moving, the something that makes him want to stay.

“Not yours either,” Minhyuk burbles, which really doesn’t make any sense, but then he’s flopped onto the bed and taken Kihyun with him, ensconcing him in a warmth that is curiously comforting, puppy-breath on the back of his neck and all.

“I don’t do cuddling,” Kihyun lies aloud, to nobody in particular. The statement does nothing to dissuade the arm tossed over his waist, the legs threatening to eclipse his own in a near tangle. And since there is nobody around to hold him accountable for the statement, and sleep does sound enticing at the moment, he closes his eyes, and lets unconsciousness have him.

  


The first thing Minhyuk sees when he wakes up is that he is not in his own room. _This is not my beautiful house_ , he thinks, staring up at a ceiling that has its faint paint indentations in all the wrong places, and then at the pillow nestled between his arms, _This is not my beautiful wife_.

He blinks at that latter thought, it having called to mind the imprint of heat and long lashes. With some effort he rolls out of the bed - still in the clothes he’d left the house in the night before - and shuffles his way out into what he remembers is Wonho and his roommate’s living room, turning for the kitchen when he smells something cooking.

And comes face to face with messy pink hair, sticking up oddly in the sunlight, last night’s shirt rumpled and buttoned up all wrong, mismatched lines revealing the slope of a slender collarbone. “What,” Minhyuk says.

Kihyun blinks, slowly, then turns to look thoughtfully at the frying pan in his hand for a while. He gives it a little jiggle, moving the perfectly cooked sunny-side-up, then looks back up. “You gotta have breakfast,” he says plainly, transferring the egg to a plate that has already been set with two strips of bacon, another egg, and some toast. “Eat up.”

Minhyuk looks at him, unbuttoned sleeves falling over his knuckles so only his finger peeks out, the way his tongue is sticking out a little bit as he focuses on perfecting another egg for the plate that must be his. “Right,” he agrees, licking his lips in confusion. “I’m -”

“Minhyuk. I know.” He doesn’t look up as he fishes the egg out of the pan and cracks another into it.

That stuns him a little. “You remember?”

Kihyun does look up now, but only long enough to display a luxuriant roll of his eyes. “ _Obviously_. I barely had anything. It kind of ended up all over your shirt.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Minhyuk remembers something about a drink that he never did provide. And then, “You’re kinda cute.”

Unfortunately, Kihyun has bustled off to the sink to let the frying pan soak before he does the dishes, so he doesn’t quite catch what he said. He tilts his head as he walks back. “Sorry?”

Minhyuk stares at his eggs and toast forlornly, and tries to tamp down the rising blush when he repeats, “You’re cute,” before shoving an entire noodle of fried bacon into his mouth as a distraction tactic. It turns on him when he actually tastes it, and involuntarily lets out a moan of pleasure. “And you can _cook_ ,” he swoons, self momentarily forgotten.

The other man quirks one eyebrow and visibly represses a smile. “I am,” he concedes, biting into his own toast, “And I can.”

Minhyuk laughs, delighted by the confidence of the answer, then takes a huge, long drag from a mug of coffee on the table that he’d only just noticed. “I remember somebody mentioning something about being a photographer,” he says with a smile, one that lights up his face and makes his eyes twinkle. “Wanna grab a coffee after this and tell me more?”

Kihyun looks pointedly at the mugs they’re both drinking from, then back up, and is about to open his mouth when Minhyuk shushes him dramatically, one hand covering the mug like it’s a secret. So, obligingly, he changes lanes, asks, “Are you asking last night’s hook-up on a date?”

From elsewhere in the house come the unmistakable dragging steps of a Wonho who’s just peeled himself off his bed, and Kihyun excuses himself for a second to put a few more slices of bread in the toaster. Minhyuk waits until he’s setting the lever to nearly shout, quite bravely, “What if I am?”

Kihyun turns to look at him, in all of his messy, unbathed glory. Seems to see something, because he says, very slowly, “I would like that.”

Wonho chooses that moment to pop his head into the kitchen. “Kyunie?” he mumbles sleepily, one hand rubbing at his face. “Minhyuk? Why are you guys here - oh, holy shit, did you _fuck_?” Suddenly he sounds a lot more awake, face stretched into a comical expression of horror.

“Not exactly,” Minhyuk quips, just to mess with him, and then adds, saucily, “At least not yet.”

A familiar croak sounds from behind Wonho. “Walking is a chore that I should be exempted from, especially after a rough night of - _hrmggdphrg_.” Wonho has turned to shove his hand over the newcomer’s mouth, but it’s too late - Minhyuk is already on his feet, emitting a series of noises somewhere between shriek and cackle.

“You got _laid_ , froggy boy!” He whoops, punching the aforementioned in the arm and seizing him in an aggressive backhug for no real reason. “Look who _didn’t_ get in your way!”

“I tried to protect you,” Wonho says, not unsympathetically, in response to the pathetic noises Hyungwon is making as Minhyuk attempts to lift him. Then he turns, unconcerned, directing a hopeful “Breakfast?” at Kihyun, beaming in gratefulness when the other hands him a freshly cooked plate of toast and eggs.

Minhyuk eventually lets go of Hyungwon and badgers Wonho for (1) the use of his shower, and (2) some spare clothes. “It’s okay if they’re oversized and I have to go for the boyfriend look,” he explains cheerfully, “Kihyunie and I are going on a date!” No sooner has he gotten a confused nod of approval before he’s zipped off, leaving a sudden silence in his wake.

“So…” Wonho starts, feeding Hyungwon a neatly cut up piece of toast as the other sits upright at the table with his eyes closed, “Are you guys going to make something out of this?”

Kihyun casts a glance in the general direction of the toilet, where loud, deliberately tuneless singing can be heard. Cannot convince himself that he does not find it charming, nor that there isn’t potentially something there worth exploring.

“Yeah,” he admits, unable to keep some level of burgeoning fondness out of his voice. He knows it’s obvious from the way Wonho grins at him, but carries on anyway. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. find me on [ twt ](http://twitter.com/frogbabey)  
> 2\. [ this is not my beautiful house. this is not my beautiful wife](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IsSpAOD6K8)  
> 3\. i am a prude and so. the word 'cock' did not appear even once in this piece. don't @ me.


End file.
